


Post-Inauguration

by Danny_Gaye



Category: Political RPF - US 21st c.
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Break Up, Closure, Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Inauguration Day, M/M, Piss Kink Mention, Post-Break Up, This is so fucking painful, Vore mention, anyway uhhh, daddy/discord kitten mention, i conceived this while washing dishes at work bc im alone with my thoughts for 5 hours, i got 117 paragraphs 31 pages and nearly 13k words, i made this for inauguration day and started it on the 8th when i got home from work, i promise this is a joke, my goals were 100 paragraphs 25 pages on google docs and 10k words, my longest joke ever, oh also this is semi treated seriously, petplay mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-21
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-12 14:53:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28887159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Danny_Gaye/pseuds/Danny_Gaye
Summary: Joe Biden and Kamala Harris's inauguration sends their predecessors down different paths, with Donald Trump moving back to Florida and Mike Pence getting a job at a coffee shop, as the two ended their four year relationship before the ceremony. 2021 pans out normally, but on the one year anniversary of the inauguration, Mike meets Donald again at his workplace.
Relationships: Barack Obama/Mike Pence, Bill Clinton/Al Gore, Joe Biden/Barack Obama, Mike Pence/Al Gore, Mike Pence/Bill Clinton, Mike Pence/Dick Cheney, Mike Pence/Donald Trump, Mike Pence/George W. Bush, Mike Pence/Mitt Romney, Mike Pence/Paul Ryan
Comments: 4
Kudos: 8





	Post-Inauguration

**Author's Note:**

> So I made this as a joke because I wanted to get back in touch with my middle school roots of writing joke fanfiction with political/historical figures. But then it turned into the most long winded joke ever. I don't even know if this is ironic anymore. All I can say is that this surpasses my 3 longest pieces ever (which were two 4000+ word TKAM fics and an 8000+ word big band slow burn). Also this may have a few mistakes and I'm sorry. Just man, this pandemic really brought me down bad. Anyway, good luck to president Biden and vice president Harris, hopefully this presidency won't suck dick and balls.

20 January, 2022: one year after the inauguration of Joe Biden and Kamala Harris. Former president Donald Trump and his vice president, Mike Pence, had parted ways a year ago that day, ending their four year relationship and moving out of the White House and the Number One Observatory Circle. Their relationship had grown rocky months before election night, collapsing in on itself the days and nights afterwards as Donald refused to believe he lost to Joe. Though he was loyal to his corrupt lover for years, Mike just couldn’t take it anymore, and they officially ended it all a week before inauguration. Their days together afterwards were awkward and silent, the two strong with emotion but too weak to speak.

Their true feelings were shown during their last day at the White House, leaning against the railing of Truman Balcony, simply staring at the chaos they - or rather, Donald - caused. Mike tightened his grip on the railing as tears welled in his eyes, his head dropped as sobs escaped his throat. The president didn’t mirror these actions, staring at his own destruction with silent anger bubbling inside him. “It wasn’t fucking fair.” He thought. He believed it was a sham at the time, but nobody agreed with him, and it tore apart his relationship.

They didn’t speak much the next morning, simply going their separate ways after simple goodbyes; they hadn’t seen each other since, and were free to move on. Donald didn’t attend Joe’s inauguration, leaving Mike without a companion. He felt truly lonely for the first time in years; feeling lost in a crowd of people that shouldn’t have been there since there was a pandemic going on, like really, come on. That wasn’t on Mike’s mind, though, he just watched the new president from his seat, somewhat glad his ex wasn’t yapping in his ear about election fraud. His mind wandered, all the way to the former presidents sitting behind him.

Behind him were Bill Clinton, George W. Bush, and Barack Obama, all of them formerly the most powerful men in the country. It was slightly intimidating for him then, as he was just a former vice president. Yeah, Dick Cheney and Al Gore were there too, but they were farther away, so he felt like the most powerless man ever compared to the three men behind him. He hated to admit it, but it was slightly arousing. He’d totally let the three men run a train on him, he was a bottom ass bitch, after all.

A sudden tap on his shoulder startled him, and when he glanced over, he locked eyes with Bill. “Hey, are you okay? You know, with the break up and all.” He said in his cracked voice, as if he needed to clear his throat, but just didn’t. “Yeah, I’m fine. Our relationship kinda sucked towards the end, though. Whenever we’d try to fuck, he’d start talking about election fraud, and my dick would get limper than a wet noodle.” Mike replied, a small laugh passing through his lips as the former president smiled behind his Claire’s mask. “Well, if ya need anything, just tell us!” George chimed in, and as his Texan accent rang in Mike’s ears, a familiar, safe feeling washed over him for some reason. “Yeah! We can always be friends, even if your boyfriend sucked fat balls and almost caused a fascist uprising!” Barack added, unaware that his deep, level voice evoked an unnamed emotion in the former vice president.

“Thanks.” Mike smiled behind his own mask as he turned back around to continue viewing the ceremony. He was completely uninterested, though, as he thought about the presidents behind him. Hell, he was single, what was the harm in a little whoring around? He figured he might as well have a bit of political fun before he began thinking about what he would do since he wasn’t in office anymore. That night, he let the three former presidents fuck him silly in a hotel room, then had Dick and Al join in on the fun, the five of them giving their own special reason for why Mike wasn't going into heaven like he hoped he would. 

But that was 2021, the year Mike left politics behind. Let’s get back to the present: 20 January, 2022. The man had decided to stay in D.C., but work a humble job as a way to integrate back into society. That, and politics was fucking boring. A real damn snooze fest. 

Mike worked in a coffee shop, and I bet you can see where this is going now, huh? He got the job a few weeks after moving out, and he found it a nice change of pace for once. No scandals, no treason, no attempted coups, just a basic coffee shop where every caucasian heterosexual romance sparks. He made a living wage, and though it wasn’t extravagant, it got them a decent house in the area. He might’ve used some of his pension, but he’ll never say that, he wanted to look like a normal citizen who definitely didn’t bang a corrupt president on the side. 

Anyway, he was doing coffee shop things, like spitting in other peoples’ drinks (which he could do now because the coronavirus had been fazed out of the country, much like racism, according to white democrats). While he was busy spitting in drinks before sending them out to customers, someone walked in through the door of the shop. “What can I get you?” Mike asked, not even looking at whoever walked in. “Coffee with extra cum, you minimum wage working bitch.” A familiar voice replied, and the former vice president froze in his position. ‘No. It can’t be.' He thought, but when he turned to look, his eyes nearly popped out from his skull, and not in an awooga way. 

It was Donald fucking Trump. God dammit. Fucking hell. Jesus Christ. Motherfucking shit.

“Donald!” Mike yelped, fully turning his body around towards the former president, pressing up against the wall. “Keep your voice down, cum dumpster! I can’t let anyone know who I am!” Donald shushed, his brows furrowing. He was wearing sunglasses and drew a Clark Gable mustache above his lip, considering that a decent disguise. Danny Gonzalez could do better than that, damn. But whatever, I guess?

“What the hell are you doing back here? I thought you moved back to Florida!” Mike whispered angrily, moving up to the counter. “Florida sucks, just like you when you’d hide out under my desk!” Donald snorted, causing his vice president to flush red with shock. “What do you want? Order or leave.” The white haired man scowled. “I want you back, Mike! I want you bad!” The disgraced president begged, but his vice was quick to shut him down. “No, it’s over. I moved on. I’m seeing people now.” He stated firmly, his dark brows furrowing.

“Who the hell are you seeing? I bet their ass isn’t as voluptuous as mine!” Donald boasted, giving his own ass a hard slap for emphasis. “Well, I rotate between Bill Clinton, George Bush, Barack Obama, Mitt Romney, Paul Ryan, Al Gore, and Dick Cheney! One piece of ass for every day of the week! I’m fucking raw in the ass, man!” Mike boasted back, a pretentious smirk plastered on his face. “Well, all together they can’t fuck as good as me! I’m the superior fucker!” The blonde desperately tried to impress his ex, but it didn’t work. “Why don’t you just get out, alright? Don’t make me call the cops just so they can do nothing for 15 minutes.” Mike threatened, and behind his sunglasses, Donald glared, but complied. Leaving the man alone once more, Mike took a creamer packet out from under the counter, tore it open, and drank it like a shot because he was fucking gross.

That night, he came home to his boyfriend of the day: George W. Bush. The graying man was sprawled across the couch, his mind occupied with his past war crimes that he never got charged for and elevator music. “Hey, babe of the day.” Mike smiled, the Texan returning it. Pushing his cowboy hat away from his face, he fondly admired the man in front of him, who was absolutely generic; looking like every football coach in a sports drama and reeking of caffeine. Damn, he was hot.

“Ready for your daily ass pounding, partner?” George drawled, sitting up. “Duh, but let me take a piss first. Unless?” Mike offered, but the former president declined. “That won’t get a yeehaw from me. That’s Bill’s thing, probably.” He explained, standing up from the couch to pop his spine. He moaned before saying, “Damn, nothing makes me wanna cum more than my bones snap, crackle, popping!” He then turned around to pop his trunk a bit in the name of foreplay, but Mike just had to make a comment.

“Your jeans are sagging, babe.” The former vice president mentioned. George glared over his shoulder, explaining with frustration, “That’s not sag, that’s just extra denim for my fat ass,” he shook his ass for emphasis, “‘cause you can’t sag with a belt that’s made for you. Custom.” He ended sensually, throwing it back once more. “Shit, alright. My bad.” Mike apologized, biting his lip in a horny way as he groped the 43rd president. George whipped around, grabbing the man by the shoulders and practically throwing him on the couch, mounting him the second he was down. The aging former president ripped his clothes off first, then his partner’s, raising his thick eyebrows with smug horniness. 

“Damn, you’re making me act up! I just might start barking!” Mike laughed, his eyes wide as he stared up at George. “That’s gonna send you right to hell, you petplay motherfucker! Say howdy to my dad for me.” George quipped, proceeding to fuck the absolute SHIT out of Mike. It was so aggressive, it gave the former politicians whiplash, but they didn’t stop. They could get the same feeling if they went on a janky roller coaster ride at Six Flags, but without the prostate abuse and cum (ok, MAYBE cum, but just a little). But while George was giving Mike another reason that he wouldn’t be seeing God when he died, the two were unaware that Donald was staring through the window, pouting like an angry child at the scene in front of him.

“He gave up my fat ass and huge dick for a cowboy? I’m gonna have to talk to him tomorrow morning…” He thought aloud, ignoring the former president climaxing and letting out a loud “YEEHAW” when he came. “God, country boys are disgusting.” He grumbled as he walked away from the property he trespassed onto, his nose wrinkled in disgust. But what did Mike know? He was some white guy from Indiana, and everyone from there was dumber than a sack of hammers. God, Donald hated Indiana. 

But back in the house, Mike and George were laying on the couch they violated, casually spooning each other as if they didn’t have the fuck of a lifetime. “The sex was banger, don’t get me wrong, but I really wish you would’ve barked.” George sighed, holding Mike closer to him. “Shit, my bad. I’ll bark next time, I swear.” The white-haired man guaranteed. “You pinky promise? You wouldn’t lie to me, right?” The Texan whimpered, giving his generic white fuck buddy puppy eyes. “Of course I wouldn’t, my favorite little war criminal.” Mike smiled, gently kissing George’s forehead, proceeding to knock out cold.

~21 January, 2022~

Mike was late to work! Fuck! He was so tired from the sex he had last night that he slept past his alarm. He did his trademark prance-clapping all the way to work, his hands like a pendulum as he kept a steady beat. Bursting in through the doors of his workplace, he clocked in and took his usual place, heaving to the point of making himself nauseous. 

Catching his breath, he awaited a customer to come in so he could half-ass their order. As he waited, he took out his phone to occupy his time with cyberbullying democrats. He was so caught up in giving Chris Cuomo all 13 reasons why he didn’t even notice Donald walking in, who impatiently stood at the counter. Finally noticing, Mike looked up from his borderline death threat to glare at his ex. “I told you I don’t want you back. Now go away, Mikey’s cyberbullying.” Mike growled, finishing up his novel-length threat towards the CNN host.

“I know we got off on the wrong foot, how about I make it up to you by taking you out to eat?” The former president offered, managing to form a decent, kindhearted smile and not some shit eating grin. The former vice president paused, furrowing his brows as he thought about the offer. Would he really? Was he that much of a stupid bitch to eat out with his war criminal ex? The answer was yes, as half of his fuck buddies were war criminals already, and he had horrible standards.

“Y’know, I’d appreciate that! You’ve never done that for me before, though. What changed?” He asked, leaning towards his neon orange tinted ex. “I just figured it would be nice! When should we go?” The blonde said with a shrug, folding his arms across his chest. “After my shift, it ends at 6.” Mike smiled, suddenly enamored by the bastard in front of him. “Great! I’ll come to pick you up. Stay sexy.” The man ended with a lip bite, looking his former vice up and down like he was filming a horny tiktok. Mike watched him strut out, feeling his eyes cave in from the pressure of sexual desire building up inside of him.

The day dragged along, minutes feeling like hours and hours feeling like weeks, leaving the man standing bored and uninterested. Fiddling with his apron, he watched all the white people fall in love over their mediocre coffee, and he yearned to be in their position. When he’d stare at patrons with the personality of white bread slices, he’d imagine himself and Donald, sighing with sorrow whenever he’d remember that he needed to wait. His yearning pained him; he was aching inside and out. He wanted to love, he wanted to give and receive affection, he wanted it all. 

But when he looked at the clock to see how long it would be until he could go, he noticed it read 6pm. Like rain after a drought or summer after the harshness of indecisive spring weather, it felt like it would never come, but yet it did, and it was euphoric. Mike instantly clocked out and rushed outside, awaiting Donald in his metaphorical (or literal, the man’s rich) chariot. Within a few minutes, he pulled up in his Cadillac, grinning as he watched the other man’s eyes widen at the site of the car. “Holy shit! This is a nice ass car! I don’t even think I can even sit in it!” He exclaimed, admiring it from a foot away. 

“You aren’t. Get in the trunk, bitch.” Donald retorted, and Mike was quick to comply. “Where are we going?” He asked as he popped the trunk open, one foot already inside. “My rented house, I made dinner that’ll rival Jamie Oliver’s entire career!” The former president called back, looking over his shoulder to watch his ex climb into the trunk of his car and shut the door on top of himself. “Hold tight, Mikey.” Donald warned, stepping on the gas pedal and speeding over potholes and uneven areas of the road, even swerving to drive on the sidewalks solely to knock mailboxes out of the ground. Mike definitely suffered some sort of brain damage, but he was too horny to care.

Tokyo drifting into the driveway, the former president narrowly avoided destroying his own property by abruptly hitting the brakes, hearing Mike slamming against the wall of the trunk with a *thud*. “Are you still sexy? Or did you get hurt? Because if you aren’t sexy I’m gonna be REAL mad!” He shouted, stepping out and lumbering over to the back of his car, having disoriented himself from how aggressively he drove. The former vice president popped the trunk door open, sitting up slowly as he scanned the area around him in a daze. The white-haired man tilted his head up to look at Donald, giving a halfhearted smile as he tumbled out of the trunk, staring up at the sky with befuddlement. “You alright, cum hair?” The blonde asked with genuine concern, leaning down and blocking the sun from Mike’s eyes with his head.

“I think I can feel my nervous system…” Mike answered, alarmed. “That’s normal, now come on, mayonnaise.” His companion reassured, grabbing his ex by the arms and pulling him up. Standing him on his feet, he guided the still dazed man towards the door, leading him into the kitchen and sitting him down. Finally regaining stability, the younger of the two sat upright at the table and watched Donald prepare a dish for him. Gently tapping his knuckles as he waited, he thought about what he was going to do when he got home.

'Shit. Today is Bill’s day. Well, he's probably waiting at home and jerking off to twitter porn, so he should be fine. I’m probably gonna not piss until I get home, George is right, he’s probably into that. God, I’m really gonna do pissplay with Bill Clinton, huh? That’s hot, actually. Oh god, do I have a piss ki-' Mike absentmindedly thought, but interrupted by the former president dropping a plate and glass in front of him. It was poorly mixed kraft macaroni and ritz crackers on a soggy paper plate served with discolored milk. “Wh… why is the plate wet?” The younger man asked, his brows knitted together with confusion and disgust. “Flavor?? A little spice?? I don’t know what you white people like.” Donald stammered, not even sure himself. “And the milk?”

“Oh, that’s not milk.” Was all the older man remarked, much to his ex’s horror. “Well, thank you very much, Donald. Will you be eating too?” Mike asked, hoping he wouldn’t be subjected to this horror alone. “Oh, hell no! I ate a big mac before I picked you up, so that’s all you.” He replied, taken aback that his former vice would dare think he would eat that garbage. Swallowing his own saliva with hesitation, the younger man pretended to say grace before eating. He didn’t bother actually saying it, though, as he knew he wasn’t going to heaven with all the kinky gay sex he had every night for the past several years. 

“So help me God.” He uttered, just in case God wasn’t angry with his and Mitt Romney’s BDSM affairs, or him accidentally saying the fuck word in front of his mom. Picking up his fork, he stabbed some of the macaroni and crackers, shoveling it into his mouth and swallowing before his tongue could register the taste or consistency, briefly choking but recovering. He decided to man up and take a sip of the “milk”, shakily picking up the glass and taking a sip right before spitting it back out onto his juvenile dinner. “Is that fucking cum?!” Mike shouted, his dark eyes widened and his eyes sunk further into his skull. “Have my children.” Donald hoarsely begged, grabbing the man.

“Wh- I can’t get pregnant by swallowing cum? Or at all? What is this, a Hetalia mpreg wattpad fanfiction?” The former vice president shrieked, pushing the man away from him with disgust. “Why can’t you bear my children, you prostate having coward?!” Donald shouted, trying to grab at Mike again with his chihuahua paw-sized hands. The former vice president ducked out of his grasp and booked it out the door, sprinting down the driveway and far from the house. He had no clue where he was since he spent the whole ride being thrown around in the trunk of a car, but he just kept running until he reached a familiar area of the city. By then, he slowed down to a simple prance (with clapping, of course), and kept that pace until he reached his own home.

Opening the door, he saw his babe of the day: Bill Clinton. He was fully clothed, to Mike’s surprise. “Hey, sexy.” He wheezed, close to collapsing on the kitchen floor. “Where were you? I’ve been horny for way too long!” Bill asked, proudly showing off his erection. “Fuckin’… Donald bro. He took me to his house to eat and made me drink his cum so I could get pregnant, or some shit.” Mike explained after catching his breath, leaning against the table for support. “Damn, that sucks. Do you need to piss, by the way?” The used-to-be president asked, biting his lip.

“Yeah, I figured you’d have a piss kink, you unneutered bitch.” The man remarked, much to the older president’s delight. “Well what are you waiting for? The rapture?” The 42nd president asked, stripping himself of his clothes, clearly into that Ricky Martin kinda shit. Fully naked - besides his boxers and socks - he proceeded to beg to be pissed on, literally on his knees and pleading. “Think of me as Quagmire toilet! Or Knuckles toilet! Or those Sonic urinals! I’m a thirsty little flower and if you don’t piss on me in one minute I WILL cum in your shower head!” Bill threatened, looking up at Mike with wide, desperate eyes. Sighing, the former vice president unzipped his pants and pulled his dick out to piss on the 42nd president of the United States.

You think I’m gonna write that? You wanna read that? Mike Pence urinating on Bill Clinton? Vile, absolutely vile. Go write that yourself, yucky ass, because I’m not, just trust me when I say it happened, horny bitch.

~22 January, 2022~

Mike didn’t work today, so he got to spend the whole day with his boyfriend of the day: Mitt Romney. The failed president-elect wasn’t in the mood for being horny today, as he was remembering the fact he lost the 2012 election and was too upset to have sex. The former vice president was stuck comforting him, and though he didn’t mind, there wasn’t much room for him to move since Mitt was sitting on his lap and blubbering into his shoulder. “I shuold'Ve won thh..ee lection. ;Thhose yyucky liberals always ruuin everything. i;',m so amd.;; When I fou u,nd ouut. about the electtiion e]sull..t,,s, vI pun..cheed mmy drywwall.. II'm s;til;l so upsset,, Miikey.” The politician bawled, whimpering pathetically as he wrapped his arms tightly around Mike’s neck. “I know, Mitt. Those damn liberals.” He sighed, thinking about last night’s pissplay adventure with Bill Clinton as Mitt verbally crytyped.

Mike rocked Mitt gently as he was having a literal meltdown over an election from 10 years ago, patting his back and attempting to comfort him by talking about the 2002 olympics. “You’re alright, oven mitt.” The white-haired man soothed, only to be met with even harder sobbing. “I'm not a uucknng ovenn m,,ittt,, Mri ikeyy. I'm at l;east a baseball m,,ittt. .. I lli.ke psort's, ipvshit.” Mitt wailed, grabbing the preceding vice president by the shoulders and shaking him, struggling to breathe through his hiccups and sobs. “Yeah, sure.” The younger politician remarked, having the republican politician return to his position in Mike’s shoulder to sob. This was a surprisingly normal occurrence, the Mayor of Whoville was just so upset over the election, and Mike simply had to deal with it.

Now that he thought of it, that seemed familiar. With a few seconds of digging through repressed memories, he remembered he was in this same exact position a year ago with Donald. His dark eyes widened at the memories of the then-president having a full blown tantrum over losing the election, and Mike had to deal with the impact. Grounding himself, he shoved Mitt off of his lap, watching him crash to the floor and stare up at him with shock and betrayal. Mike stood over him, trembling with a mix of fury and fear, but not towards Mitt, never towards Mitt.

It was all at Donald. The preceding vice never realized how much his president took a toll on him until now. He didn’t stop to think that maybe dating a corrupt fascist man-child who almost got him killed by his cult would affect his well-being. He knew it now, but it was too late. One out of his seven boyfriends was sobbing uncontrollably on the floor he was shoved onto, and Mike had to bear the burden of being the man who put him on that floor.

“I-I’m sorry, Mitt! I didn’t mean to!” The man stammered, feeling his heart in his throat and nearly choking on his own words. The politician didn’t verbally reply, only whimpering and hiccupping. “I just… I remembered something bad and I couldn’t help it! I’m very sorry, I would never do that!” The younger of the two republicans cried, his hands and voice quaking. “Doo It rw,eminD ;yoou fo DooNNalhd?,,?” Mitt choked out, wiping his face with his sleeve. Mike stood there, unable to reply then and there.

With a few moments of hesitation, he sighed and uttered, “No, you don’t, but it all just feels like 2020 again.” He drew in a breath before rubbing the tears out of his eyes, not wanting to upset one of his many partners further by breaking down in front of him. “I’m sorry, Mitt.” He repeated, managing to hold eye contact with the other republican. The older of the two ceased his sobs, suddenly not so upset over the 2012 election. He didn’t want to cry anymore, too intimidated to do so as he stared into his partner’s eyes.

All he saw was sorrow. Mike’s eyes dropped to his floor, his eyelids drooping as he pressed his lips into a thin line. Noticing him hold his own hands, Mitt could tell he wanted to apologize again, but there was nothing more to be said; he said all he could think of. The older politician regained his ability to speak - though not clearly yet - quietly requesting, “II thiink yoU shouldg go. Just for a bIt.” Mike nodded, slowly turning around to walk away.

His hand on the doorknob, he hesitated to turn it, just wanting a bit of reassurance before he left. “Do you still love me, Mitt?” He asked, looking over his shoulder. “,,I doo, ubt y,ou need to go.” The politician replied, sincere with his words but firm on his request. “I love you too, I hope you know that.” Mike sighed, turning the knob and walking out the door, shutting himself out of the house and away from his lover. Once again, he was alone.

He trotted away from his home, hands stuffed in his pockets as he continuously thought over his mistake. He was a goddamn fool. A jester. God was laughing at him. He finally got back at him for all the gay sex he had since 2016.

Mike had no idea where to go; nowhere else felt like home. Heaving a sigh, he kept wandering the city until he found himself in a familiar place: his coffee shop. Bewildered by his own autopilot decision, he glanced around anxiously, hoping Donald wasn’t there. Surveying the shop and seeing no ex-president in sight, the ex-vice president allowed himself to breathe as he wandered into his workplace, but as a customer this time. It was oddly refreshing; he had no responsibilities, no customers to bitch at him, nothing.

He ordered a coffee and a pastry, though he wasn’t in the mood to consume anything, as the incident at home left his stomach in a twist. He figured it just felt odd sitting alone in a coffee shop and not buying anything. Once he got his products, he sat at a table in the back of the shop, not wanting to draw any attention towards himself. Easing the fear out of his gut by slowly eating, he managed to calm himself down, though he still felt nothing but remorse for what he did. He didn’t know when he’d return home, or even if he would, despite it being his own house, and Mitt was just a guest.

As he considered when he’d return from the shop, he pushed himself deep in thought, unable to notice anything around him, including someone standing at his table. “Mike!” Someone shouted, startling him out his thoughts. He looked up at whoever said his name, nearly dropping his pastry at the sight in front of him: Donald, for the third day in a row. “Christ, do you never give up?!” Mike nearly shouted, his eyes wide with rage and shock. “You gotta work hard for your prizes, Mikey Boy!” Donald grinned, his smile like a monkey about to lose it’s shit and become unhinged.

“I don’t want to be around you, alright? Why can’t you understand that!” The ex-vice snapped, just about ready to bite the man. “Oh, come on! You know deep down you love me! Everyone does!” Donald laughed, his monkey grin only becoming more ape-like. “Your approval rating was shit, and I was a part of the percentage that didn’t like you! I moved on, and you have to accept that!” He retaliated, beginning to heave out of pure anger. “You did pretty shit with Mitt earlier.” The blonde riposted, watching Mike’s eyes widen with disbelief at the knowledge he possessed. “How the hell did you know that?! Are you stalking me or something, you creep?” The younger man hastily asked in a hushed tone, looking around to make sure nobody was looking at the two.

“I guess you could say that. I mean, I’ve watched you get screwed by a Southerner and piss on another. You lived quite an interesting life without me!” Donald chuckled, his little hands on his hips. Mike was revolted at his ex’s knowledge, unable to conceive a response that wasn’t screaming his lungs out and committing a felony. Without asking, the former republican president sat at the table with his vice, leaning in uncomfortably close to him. Mike didn’t want to entertain Donald any further, downing the rest of his coffee and shoving what was left of his pastry into his mouth before standing up to leave, briskly exiting the shop without saying a word. “Mikey! Come on! Daddy’s gonna get really angry if you don’t come back here!” Donald shouted for the whole world to hear, and Mike felt like he was going to die from humiliation right then and there.

“Great, he won’t leave me alone and he just called himself daddy for everyone to hear. If he calls me kitten I just might kill myself to death.” The republican thought to himself, his face contorted in disgust at the nickname he used to be called. He used to “nya” for his boyfriend while they were in office, even sporting cat ears for special occasions. If it was a real special occasion, like a war crime well committed, he would recite “I’m a cat, I’m a kitty cat, and I dance, dance, dance and I dance, dance, dance” for hours on end as he wore his cat ears and did a little jig, much to the amusement of his lover. That was probably the most embarrassing moment of his life. Well, that and his straight phase.

Pulling himself out of his own mental catboy hell, Mike shot a glance over his shoulder, noticing Donald called off today’s pursuit as soon as he started it. Relieved for the time being, he slowed his pace, allowing thoughts about Mitt to flood back. He realized he hadn’t been gone for long and that it felt too soon to return, so he made his way to the heart of the city, thinking he could probably pass the time by visiting museums. He walked in and out of a few of them within a few hours, not really taking an interest towards anything shown. He eventually just stopped looking at the exhibits, simply walking around aimlessly and letting his thoughts take him somewhere else.

Wandering the National Gallery of Art, he was captivated by his own fantasy, which took place in the Garfield universe. Whenever he got stressed or was feeling negative in any way, he imagined being a part of the Garfield lore. The cat was a great source of comfort to Mike, who owned an absurd amount of merchandise and every comic, memorized every strip, and could even recite all the Garfield movies word for word. During his college years, when he wasn’t working on his unfunny law school comic, he consistently drew the American icon, doing so to the point where he didn’t know how to draw anything else. But he didn’t need to draw anything else, he only needed the funny cat.

As his mind wandered further, he left the Garfield Cinematic Universe (or the GCU, for short), and retreated back to 2003. He was the Representative of Indiana, the Iraq War was raging, and George W. Bush was off committing war crimes and saying silly things to cover it up. That day, 19 June, Mike took the floor and delivered his magnum opus of speeches. It wasn’t about Bush, the war, or any events at the time, it was about Garfield’s birthday. He spent five minutes talking about the cat; wishing him a happy birthday, how fond of him he was, and how he basically kinned the cat. 

He stood by those words today, as he really did kin Garfield, and he was damn proud of it. He even considered buying a fursuit of the feline, but had to drop the idea due to the fact he didn’t want to be mistaken for Donald. The resemblance was the reason Mike was so infatuated with him when he began his campaign. He struck such a similarity to the beloved feline, the politician couldn’t help but hang onto his every word. He could trust Garfield, he was a trustworthy kitty.

That trust eventually strengthened into a mutual attraction, and within a week's worth of poor flirting and flustering by both parties, they were practically married. They loved each other deeply, even though the president didn’t seem like the affectionate type to the public. The two often spent their down time just enjoying each other’s company, lazily kissing each other’s necks and playing with one another’s hair. Mike never felt as smitten as he did then, his thoughts absolutely dominated by Donald (and Garfield). During their relationship, the vice president associated the president with his favorite cat so much he started getting horny when watching the Garfield movies (specifically Garfield: A Tail of Two Kitties (2006)). 

The two even had Garfield roleplay sex, several fantasies spawning from this concept. Mike’s favorite one was where he would be Garfield and Donald would be Arlene, and the president pretended to be pegging his vice. Every time they acted out this fantasy, the younger republican had to shout “DAMN SHAWTY” whenever the older man pulled out his “strap”. Remembering the fantasy put the man in a state of unbothered bliss, until he began to remember how the relationship played out years afterwards. There were no more Garfield roleplays, only agitation and apprehension.

As the final year of his first (and only) term came around, Donald was a lot more frustrated, only worsening as the shitshow of a year played out. Mike was used as a lightning rod to absorb all the anger exuded by his lover, and it emotionally wore him down. It all fell apart during the election, and the vice president could no longer live without his superior yammering about how he won and it was all a lie. He wouldn’t concede, he threatened lawsuits, and he even told his lover that he should overturn the results or else he would “fail America”. Up until that point, Mike was on board with investigating the results, often discussing the Arizona results while the vice president was licking away all the dirt from the president’s shoes, but he knew for a fact he had no power to do as his partner said.

He even said this, no longer on board with his boyfriend’s delusions, and that’s was lead to his near murder. A week after his near-death experience, he finally broke up with Donald, who showed no sign of emotion. They didn’t talk after that, the closest thing to interacting being their moment on Truman Balcony, but they didn’t even speak. Mike just sobbed, and Donald just let his anger stew. The morning of inauguration was quiet, and their last words together were just straight faced goodbyes.

The former vice moved on rather quick, his fanfiction-friendly job and his several fuck buddies getting him out of his funk. He actually enjoyed life, able to play out his Garfield fantasies with several others. Even though he associated the cat with his lover, that soon changed when Al Gore dressed in a full fursuit and fucked him silly, which resulted in a weekly tradition of murrsuiting with Al. Donald had completely left his thoughts, and he was content with that. He regained a personality and hadn’t licked boot in over a year, the taste escaping his brain as well.

“Sir? Mr. Pence?” A voice pulled him out of his thoughts, and Mike peered over to a museum security guard. “Sir, you’ve been standing in front of this painting for an hour and the place is about to close. Why don’t you go home?” He explained, only met with a puzzled Pence. He didn’t recall stopping to stare at any paintings, he didn’t even think he was wandering for long. He glanced at his watch, his brows rising in shock to see that it was nearly 5pm. “Oh, gee wiz.” He said in his trademark caucasian tone, wishing the guard a good night before making his way to the exit, hoping Mitt still wasn’t upset with him.

He made his way home, his hands stuffed in his pockets the whole walk as he took his time, still feeling it was too early to return home. As he lumbered to the front steps of the door, he hesitated to put his hand on the knob, mindlessly checking his phone in order to stall time. When he did everything he could to avoid entering his own abode, he let out a defeated sigh, grabbing the doorknob and turning it. His face was burning hot from anxiety and slight embarrassment, like when he got booed at while trying to watch Hamilton live. Pushing his door open, he set foot into his home again, hesitantly scanning the area as he closed the door, not seeing his boyfriend of the day.

“Mitt? Are you here? I’m home!” Mike called, his stomach beginning to twist again. Did he leave for good? Was he going to be without a Saturday boyfriend? No cummies on Saturday? No more rough gay sex before the Lord’s day?

“Mikey!” A voice called, the knot untying as footsteps pounded down the stairs and the politician slid into view. Before the younger republican could say hello, his partner threw himself into his arms, embracing him tight. “Oh, my sweet cumhair, I was so worried! I thought you left for good!” Mitt whimpered, no longer speaking like a tumblr user’s guilt trip apology. “I would never! I’m so sorry, Baseball Mitt.” Mike sighed, holding his lover’s hands within his own. “It’s alright, Mikey, just c’mere.” The taller politician smiled, pulling the shorter republican close to him, petting his 2% milk colored hair and mumbling sweet nothings.

Mike melted into Mitt’s arms, wrapping his arms around his Saturday lover and burying his face in his chest. It felt alright again; it was all back to the way it was. The rest of the night didn’t consist of kinky gay sex like it normally did, as the two were just too tender and wrapped up in their own love for each other. They spent their night on the couch Mike regularly degraded simply embracing, with Mitt’s arms around the former politician’s shoulders and listening intently as the younger man explained the Garfield lore in its entirety, especially including the fact that Jon killed a man and drank dog cum. It was all so ideal, and Mike didn’t want it to ever end.

~23 January, 2022~

It was Mike’s second day off, and he spent it uselessly yearning for what he had between him and Mitt last night. His arms held a sensation that could only leave through holding another man as intimately as he held the older republican. He loved all his boyfriends, but he possessed such a connection with the politician that was far stronger than the connection he had with the others. He wouldn’t break up with them, of course, but he wished to see Mitt more than once a week. He wasn’t sure why he got so smitten over the man, he just knew it was an overwhelming sensation.

Could it be the fact they had such an intense moment that left them both terrified for the future of their own relationship? Could it be the idea of one never seeing each other again after their little moment? Could it be the deprivation of sex and the replacement of innocent love and attraction? That must’ve been it, as Mike had such an intense sexual relationship for his other politician lovers, but not as much of a romantic one. The love between him and Mitt was such a breath of fresh air, it almost reminded him of his and Donald’s relationship.

'Donald?' Mike thought to himself, furrowing his brows as he remembered his disgraced lover’s name. Why would he remember such a failed relationship when thinking about such a good one? The former vice president leaned against his kitchen counter as he pondered, biting his nails while he used his brain for once. Thinking about it now, his and Mitt’s relationship did seem rather similar to his and Donald’s. He and the former president were madly in love with each other, and they used to hold each other the same way before it crashed at their feet.

All the good memories floated around Mike’s brain, a sense of nostalgia washing over him. He let out a sigh, shaking his head as he harshly rubbed his eyes. He wanted to stop thinking about it, but he just couldn’t. He had a million questions and they just kept multiplying as the seconds passed. But there was a glaring one that invaded his brain the most: was he not over Donald?

He wasn’t this uncertain before his orange fanta colored ex came back to D.C., but now that he kept showing up, Mike didn’t know what to think. He sat down - as thinking this much was too difficult of a task to do while standing - and let the relationship play out in his head. It all started out well, up until the election came up. As the democrats were competing to become the nominee, Donald had gotten increasingly frustrated, and it affected their love life. Mike allowed himself to absorb it all, not wanting to see the other white house staff be used as sponges for the president’s anger.

'Did democrats ruin my relationship?' Mike wondered, pursing his lips as he thought it over. He was about to accept that as the truth, but he dismissed it, soon realizing that it was stupid to blame his failed relationship on the abundance of democrats who wanted to become the president. But that gave him an idea: who did Donald blame? There must’ve been something that he blamed, and it definitely wasn’t himself because he couldn’t get his head out of his own ass. There had to be a root cause of it all, and it couldn’t be the stress of the election.

He needed closure. He had to know what caused the relationship to end like it did. He had to know why Donald took his frustration out on everyone. He had to know why he was coming back now to win him back. He just needed to know everything so he could get him out of his brain and out of his life for good.

“Yeah, yeah that’s good. Closure. That’s what I need.” Mike mumbled to himself, nodding approvingly at his idea. His thoughts were cut off by the door opening behind him, and he glanced back to see his Sunday babe: Barack Obama. “Good morning, Barry.” The man purred, turning around in his chair and smirking. “Mornin’, milk man. How was last night with Mitt?” The man asked, waltzing up to the table and leaning beside his lover. “Man… it was amazing! I’ve never felt so close to someone! He let me talk about Garfield all night long, it was a dream!” Mike sighed with a smile, his chin resting on his palm and his eyes half closed as he replayed the memory in his head. 

Barack furrowed his brows slightly at Mike talking so sweetly about the man he competed against back in 2012, but he couldn’t hold a grudge for long. It’s been years, and the two finally quit going at each other’s throats. They mutually agreed to metaphorically sign a truce, and that was the end of their post-election feud. When they both became part of Mike’s weekly set of boyfriends like they were once a week vitamins in a labeled tray, they began to get along a lot better, both bonding over the fact they were able to top the spineless vice president and kinky sex. It was all big fun and rough intercourse now!

The former president noticed that Mike was lost in thought, unaware he was contemplating how to get closure from Donald. “You alright there?” He asked, getting the older man’s attention. “Yeah, just…” The republican trailed off, contemplating if he even should tell his democrat lover what he was planning to do. He was a supportive guy, of course, but he probably wouldn’t hesitate to call him a damn idiot for even considering getting closure from the guy with cotton built in his ears. Silent for a second, Mike picked up his sentence with, “Just thinking about Garfield, you know the deal.”

“Is that all you think about? Garfield?” Barack asked, somewhat lighthearted with his question, but genuinely concerned as well. He really did believe the blander than dry, overcooked, and unseasoned chicken republican had a Garfield fetish, along with horses, piss, public humiliation, getting pegged, calling women mother, and every other notable kink in the book. “I mean, funny cat!” Mike replied, his eyes glowing with joy at the mere mention of his favorite feline. The 44th president eventually nodded in agreement, mumbling, “He do be funny.” They mutually agreed on the hilarity level of the orange cat, simply repeating Barack’s statement.

“You know, Joe really likes Odie!” The younger politician brought up with a smile, hoping that it could lead to the two cum-haired men bonding. “FUCK ODIE! HE’S A CLASS TRAITOR!” Mike shouted, slamming his fists on the table, rattling its decorations. “Yeah, so is Joe. Mr. Unity or some shit. The only thing he united was his mouth on my d-” Barack began, about to make the dick sucking joke of a lifetime before Mike shrieked at the visual. Barack was still in a loving relationship with the now 46th president, having been together since their running mate days in 2008, but the relationship was open enough to allow the former president to fuck the former vice president once a week. The democrat just had a thing for men with miracle whip colored hair.

“Anyway, sex?” Barack asked, shrugging a bit as he asked. “Yeah, sure. I haven’t came in a hot minute.” Mike agreed, getting up from his chair and doing a gay little run that would piss off his gym teachers towards the sex couch. During their weekly ass-pounding session, Mike pretended to be an ethereal bisexual who wore mostly black, and the former president recited The Communist Manifesto. Mike couldn’t pay attention, however, he was just too mentally wrapped up with how he had to find Donald and actually talk with him about their ceased relationship. Though he pretended to get pleasure out of Barack’s fantasy, his disinterest was just too obvious, and the two men had a disappointing climax.

“What’s wrong with you? There’s something going on, and it’s not about Garfield.” The 44th president huffed, pulling out and pulling his slacks back up. “Oh, Barry…” Mike sighed, rubbing his head and closing his eyes. The man wouldn’t speak for a moment, keeping his eyes closed and his hand on his head as if he was nursing a headache. With a moment to choose his words, he sat up and began to explain his reason behind his disinterest in sex, “Well, I realized I might need closure from Donald. He won’t leave me alone and I have so many questions to ask!” Barack sat and stared at Mike with skepticism, knowing Donald well enough to realize how futile of an idea that was.

“Ah, it’s stupid. I don’t think he’ll ever tell me why he did anything. At this point, I don’t think he’ll ever leave me alone.” Mike lamented, wanting to punch himself for his stupid idea. “Well, maybe it could work!” Barack attempted to comfort, trying to keep hopes high for his fuck buddy. The republican could tell the democrat was lying through his teeth, letting out a melancholic sigh of defeat. “I don't even know what to say, or even how to find him! It’s hopeless, Barry.” He bitterly admitted, folding his arms across his chest as he pouted. “Hey, you’re talking to the hope guy, and as the inventor, founder, co-founder, and CEO of hope, I can tell you it’s not all lost! You just gotta know what to say! It could take a bit to properly think about what you wanna address, so give it time! You can’t just go out and grab Donald by his tits now and pull some unprepared shit out of your ass! I’ll help you, I’ll get you closure.” The former president promised, taking Mike’s hands in his own.

With a smile, the older man leaned his head against Barack’s chest, sighing in relief. “You know, for a war criminal, you sure do know things.” Mike chuckled, sensing the former president wrapping his arms around his neck in a gentle hug. “Yeah, that’s why I got away with all my crimes!” The democrat laughed, glad the justice system let him get away with several crimes against humanity. Mike snorted, which was rather uncharacteristic for his bland curtain in the living room personality. Enjoying their hug for a moment before breaking away, they went on to discuss talking points, Mike’s concerns, and how he would address it all to his ex, and once again, Mike felt safe.

~24 January, 2022~

Mike was back at work, anxiously pacing back and forth behind the counter as he thought and thought again about how he would talk to Donald. Barack helped him prepare a basic list of what he wanted to address, but he could feel himself forget everything due to the sheer weight of the situation on his shoulders. He nervously clenched and unclenched his fists as he paced, attempting to reassure himself as he kept repeating under his breath, “It’ll be alright, everything always turns out fine, it’s okay, nothing is bad.” But in the back of his mind, he detested everything he muttered, practically screaming everything he didn’t want to hear in his head. He could hear the echo of his inner voice as the volume of shrieks made his ears pound. 

He ruffled his hair and rolled his eyes back into his skull, harshly blinking while he struggled to swallow his own saliva to soothe his dry throat. He felt as if he was going to collapse right then and there, laboring to breathe properly and feeling as if his entire body was being clawed at. He couldn’t even tell where he was anymore, his feet feeling as if they weren’t touching the floor and he was lost somewhere in the middle of the solar system. But there he was, standing alone behind the counter, holding his head in his hands and silently praying for the feeling to end. He was going to die, he just knew it.

He wanted it all to just end. He wanted to go home and stay there forever, but he also wanted to see Donald one last time so he could talk. The idea made his heart nearly beat out his chest, the feeling making him double over on the counter. He rested his head against the cool surface, his arms over his stomach as he felt it hollow out. Maybe, just maybe, not doing anything would make him better.

He began to consider it, only to realize it would cause him more distress in the long run. Lifting his head, he rubbed his eyes in defeat, coming to the conclusion he will never be satisfied unless he went out and went through with his plan. For the first time in days, he wished for Donald to show up randomly like he did for the past week, patiently waiting for the blonde to walk into the coffee shop. Yet, after hours, he never showed. Even by the time Mike clocked out, the man never appeared, and he slumped his shoulders in defeat with tears brimming in his eyes.

'Oh God, it’s too late. Fucking Christ, I shouldn’t have waited.' Mike berated himself, hastily untying his apron and yanking it off as he left. He had no clue where Donald could have gone or what he was doing, all he knew was that his absence hurt him more than he could imagine. He just wanted to get everything over with, but it was going to be harder than he anticipated. “Well shit.' The republican thought to himself, ambling his way back home. To calm himself, he let Garfield overtake his brain once more, suppressing a childish grin as the feline did his normal activities, like harass Odie and Jon.

He kept himself content until he arrived home, ready to begin venting until he saw his Monday sexy boy: Al Gore. He was in full Garfield mode, with his fursuit and a big ass pan of lasagna. All the stress from the day melted away from Mike as he looked Al up and down, biting his lip and doing a little fuckboy laugh. “Damn, shawty,” the younger man grinned, “you gonna eat that lasagna yourself or what?” “Oh, I won’t eat it, and neither will you, Mikey Boy.” The former democratic vice president purred (intentionally).

“God, it’s all hot and shit. It’s burning right through my paws!” Al remarked, his voice shrill as he gave himself every degree of burns. He set down the meal on the table, sexily gesturing towards it. “I wanna fuck that lasagna.” Mike admitted, chewing the inside of his lip as he struggled to hold back his urges. “Why, that’s why I made it, silly!” The democrat smiled, and within nanoseconds, the former politician was balls deep in the meal, burning his dick to a crisp in the process. Al unzipped his crusty fursuit from the front, pulling out his fat boner right before driving it into Mike.

It was the hottest (literally and figuratively) threesome to ever occur, and Al was about to break the world record of most times fornicating in a Garfield suit, which was originally held by Bernie Sanders at 186. “This’ll show that damn commie.” The democrat groaned as a wave of sexual pleasure rippled through him. Mike didn't make a comment, simply moaning as he busted a fat one in the lasagna. He could probably feed that to someone and not mention the fact he had sex with it, save for the obvious, dick-sized hole. Al followed soon after, climaxing and officially breaking the record he worked so hard for.

The both of them pulling out of their respective holes, they simultaneously sighed with relief as Mike zipped up his slacks and Al shed himself of his fursuit, which was now crustier than a gamer’s sex pillow. The younger of the two couldn’t even remember why he was so petrified this morning, the only thing occupying his brain being Al’s huge dick and the Garfield cosplay. He’d probably remember in the morning, but now was the time for hot sexy NSFW 18+ Garfield, not some silly emotions and inner turmoil. “Now,” Al said kindly, a genuine smile on his face as he held his sticky fursuit, “come sit with me, I wanna hear about your day.” Mike flustered slightly at the request, despite it being the most vanilla thing ever and he was asked it every week when Al came over. 

Al was a lot better at being a romantic partner and a sexual partner at the same time, often asking Mike vanilla questions, cooking him breakfast, sweetly telling him how much he adored him, the whole shebang. Despite notoriously being the kinky Garfield guy, he could be genuinely sweet sometimes, harboring this side of him since the 90s when he and Bill were in a strictly monogamous relationship during their two terms (well, monogamous if Hillary wasn’t mentioned). He was a lot like Mitt, the only difference between them being the fursuit, though Mitt made up for it through his BDSM kink. But still, Mike wasn’t used to this kind of affection, and it never failed to make him red. Proceeding to sit on the horny couch, he rambled on about the happenings of his coffee shop, which was pretty much all the wattpad AU fanfiction ships becoming canon.

~25 January, 2022~

Al had vanished into the night while Mike was sound asleep, only to wake up and see Dick Cheney beside him. He snored obnoxiously beside the man, not moving an inch as his fellow former vice president lover got ready for work. As the younger republican smoothed out his work shirt, he began to wonder what he was worried about the morning before. Furrowing his brows as he leaned against the table, he considered all his options. Through a process of elimination, which took an embarrassingly long time, he remembered the source of his stress.

“Donald!” He unintentionally shrieked, waking up Dick. “Ungh, what the hell are you yellin’ about, Mike?” He groggily asked, rubbing his eyes. “I have to talk to Donald! We need closure! I have to find him!” Mike stammered, frantically waving his hands as he explained. “Oh, have fun with that.” The other vice president replied, not seeming to care about Mike’s relationship issues as much as his lost sleep. The younger man didn’t pick up on this, further mentioning, “Well, I don’t know where to find him, or if he’ll even tell me the truth!”

“I can come along and waterboard him.” Dick suggested, his eyes beginning to glow. “No-” “Or I can shoot him like that Texas attorney!” He rambled, about to list another one of his crimes before Mike shut him down. “No waterboarding and no hunting incidents. I’m gonna be civil.” Mike firmly stated, much to Dick’s disappointment. “Maybe you could bring Mitt along and he can do Donald like he did Seamus-” The older man mentioned, but cut himself off when his boyfriend glared at him. 

“I’m gonna be civil, I just have to figure out where he is…” Mike mumbled, humming quietly as he brainstormed all the places Donald could possibly be. “Where do you think he could be, dipshit?” Dick snapped, and when Mike stared at him cluelessly, he sighed with frustration. “Golf. Fucking golf.” He muttered, and a lightbulb went off in the younger vice president’s head. “I can find him after work and then I can talk to him! Thanks, Dick!” He smiled, rushing up to his boyfriend to kiss his head and prancing out the door to go to work. “Maybe I should’ve waterboarded him.” The older republican frowned, rubbing his head in exasperation.

Mike prance-clapped his way to work, hoping to speedrun the day so he could find a golf course and talk to Donald, suddenly overwhelmed with a new sense of confidence. Apparently, he grew a spine last night. He always wanted one of those! Maybe, if he was lucky, he would grow a pair of balls too during work. One always can dream.

Doing a gay little skip into his workplace, Mike clocked in and stood at his station, rocking back and forth on his heels as he anticipated the very near future. He worked hard that Tuesday, spitting with extra force in people’s coffees before sending them off. He exuded such a strong, confident energy that his co-workers had to ask him what was up, since he was either miserable or had the energy of a plank of sanded wood. He told them about how he was going to do something very important after work, genuinely smiling for the first time in who knows how long. It was fucking horrifying, and his co-workers shuffled away out of pure fear.

As hours passed and Mike maintaining that spring in his step, he noticed the clock strike 6, and he was free to go. Clocking out and nearly running out of the shop, he tore off his apron and began looking up and down the street, trying to remember where the golf course was. He wasn’t a golf kinda guy, so he was running blind at this point. Sprinting wildly around the city, almost getting hit by at least four cars in the process, he found one Donald frequented during his presidency. Mike immediately ran in, not thinking of the consequences of entering the course without a membership or millions of dollars given to him by his father.

He scampered the area, desperately looking for his ex, about to give up hope until he noticed an immediately recognizable stature. It was Donald, and he was about to swing his club back when Mike shrieked his name. Losing grip mid-swing, the club clocked Mike directly in the chest, knocking the wind out of him briefly. With a glare, Donald slowly spun around like he was a rotisserie chicken on a spit, facing his ex as he put his hands on his hips. “What do you want, Wheezy?” He furrowed his brows, clearly displeased with his game being interrupted.

“Look, I realized something.” Mike began, his entire body beginning to tremble at the idea he was really going through with his idea. “You want me back? Hurrah! The discord daddy has won back his discord kitten!” Donald began to cheer, his hands in the air as he was about to celebrate his victory. “No, I don’t. But this is about our relationship.” His former vice cut him off, and he ceased his celebration to stare down his ex with disappointment and confusion. “Well, what is it then?” He asked, folding his arms across his chest. The younger man sighed, ruffling his hair a bit before he began.

“Why did our relationship end the way it did? Why were you so angry? Why are you trying to get me back? Who do you blame? What caused this all to happen?” Mike began, beginning to fire questions and not give Donald the opportunity to answer. Suddenly overwhelmed with the several questions, the former president took a few moments to think, fixing his hat as he thought. After a good bit of silence, he repeated, “Why did our relationship end like that?” “Yes, why did it all just… turn to shit? We just stopped loving each other, in a way.” Mike replied, slumping his shoulders as he peered up at Donald with sad eyes, the end of their relationship playing out in his head. The older republican didn’t seem to know the answer off the top of his head, pushing some of his hair behind his ear as he chose his words carefully for once.

“The election really got me uptight, I guess,” he finally spoke, giving a little shrug, “that’s why I was so angry all the time, I just couldn’t take the stress of it all.” Mike wasn’t satisfied, stretching his lips into a thin line. “There’s something else, isn’t there? There was some deeper shit that made you act out, you couldn’t just… I don’t know, get so aggressive about election results that you tried to get me involved and almost got me killed by your fans! You didn’t just call me a pussy and tell me I was failing America because of the election!” The younger republican retorted, noticing a shift in Donald’s aura as he mentioned a “deeper reason” behind his actions. “You stopped loving me for a reason, you were angry for a reason, you’re trying to get me back for a reason, this all happened for a reason, and you know who’s responsible for it, and it wasn’t the damn election!” The man began to shout, his hands trembling as he huffed. Donald’s light eyes fell to the floor, solemn.

“You’re right.” He mumbled, leaning his weight on the golf club he accidentally threw at his ex after retrieving it from the grass. Mike raised his brows, surprised his assumption was correct. With another moment of silence, Donald spoke up again, admitting defeatedly, “I was all bothered because I thought you’d leave me for Joe.” His vice’s eyes widened, expecting every answer but that one. “You thought I’d leave you for Joe? Why?” He asked, his dark eyes filled with nothing but shock. 

“‘Cause I fuckin’ sucked, Mike. I saw how nice of a boyfriend Joe was to Barack and I got afraid that you’d see how dogshit I was and leave me for him. I just kept getting so frustrated at the idea that I just took it out on everyone. I kept denying the election results so he wouldn’t come here and take you from me. I couldn’t love you because the visual of you getting railed by that old as dirt bastard just made me disgusted by you. When we broke up, I felt like my fears came true and you were gonna go fuck Joe or something, especially since you ditched my sendoff to see him. I just constantly blamed him and the election instead of myself when I went back to Florida, but when I found out you two weren’t together, I came here to get you back because I thought you still loved me! But you’re fucking seven other guys, and I’m out here, looking like a dumbass. That’s what happened. Are you happy now, Mike?” Donald confessed, seemingly genuine as his eyes were wide and drowning in remorse. Mike stood there, his mouth agape as he processed his ex’s confession. “Donald…” he began, “I wouldn’t have left you for Joe. If you just kept it civil, I’d still be with you! Yeah, Joe is nice and all, but he’s not the one I fell in love with in 2016! I was committed to you, Donny, and only you, but you hurt me real fuckin’ bad! I mean, you called me a pussy, you said I was failing America, you told me to do something you knew I couldn’t do, and you almost had me killed! I just became intimidated by you, and even though I’m not with Joe, I still don’t want you back. I’m happy where I am with my seven fuck buddies, and I’ve been a lot better since then.” The two became quiet, taking in the silence and registering what the other said. “If I wasn’t such a sore loser, we’d still be fucking?” Donald questioned, then met with a nod from Mike.

“You could’ve talked to me, I would’ve understood! I wouldn’t ditch you for Joe, but I feel like I saw you for who you really are. I just see some fascist monster.” The younger republican admitted, watching his ex let out a frustrated sigh. “God, I fucked up, huh?” He chuckled through his emotional pain, grimacing in agony. “Yeah, you did. Now stop pursuing me. I don’t want you back.” Mike demanded firmly, shocking the older man a bit. The younger man softened, immediately regretting his sudden firmness, letting out a meek, “I’m sorry.” Donald patted his shoulder reassuringly as he spoke once more, “I’ll stop going after you if you don’t like me anymore. You’ve got your fuck buddies, and I got other world leaders I could hit up for a quick fuck. Justin Trudeau is always up for some good old-fashioned kinky Canadian sex!” 

Mike laughed, the visual amusing him quite a bit. Donald laughed with him, his arm around his shoulders as he pulled him in. The two ceased their laughter after some time, sighing as they didn’t move away from each other. They allowed themselves to hold each other close, admiring the silence that, for once, didn’t hold much tension between them. It was finally calm.

“So, that’s it? That all started because of old man Joe?” Mike had to reaffirm, watching Donald nod. “Yeah, I’m just a bit jealous, I mean, he looks better than me!” The former president laughed, only to be met with his vice furrowing his brows. “He doesn’t have spice, you do! That’s why I went for you! You were unlike any man I ever met, I thought you being so clueless about politics and making life for minorities a living hell was the hottest thing ever!” The shorter of the two admitted, biting his lip a bit at the thought of Donald’s hate crimes. “Yeah, I’m one of a kind! Me being so ethereal and hot and sexy and unique was what got me into you too, actually! I saw your bland, stale pop tart ass and thought it was so sexy, like, you looking just like a default sim? Hot as hell!” The taller man grinned, giving Mike a good old-fashioned ass grab. “Gee willikers!” Mike exclaimed, his face flushing red at the sudden gesture.

Donald chuckled, moving away from his ex and letting out a sigh. “I’m sorry it didn’t work out between us.” He apologized, tilting his head to his right as he locked eyes with Mike. “I’m sorry it didn’t work out either.” He replied, stretching his lips into a line. “But I’m glad you told me everything. Maybe, if you want, you’ll have a better relationship with Justin.” The former vice president smiled hopefully, watching his president’s eyes glow. “Maybe so!” The blonde grinned.

The two broke eye contact, looking everywhere else as they decided what to say next. “Well, this is it, I guess.” Mike sighed, glancing up at Donald. “I guess so.” He responded, slumping his shoulders slightly. “Are we cool? It’s alright if we aren’t…” The former president asked, lightly swinging his club from side to side. “We can be. I mean, you can always visit D.C. if you really want.” The former politician suggested, grinning as Donald favored the idea. 

“I won’t be trying anything, I promise.” The older republican reassured, patting Mike’s shoulder lightly. “I’m glad, I’m a married man.” He chuckled, patting Donald’s shoulder back as a sign of mutual “yeah, we’re alright”. The two broke contact, saying nothing until Mike broke the silence, “Goodbye, Donny. I hope things are better in Florida.” Donald smiled at the nickname, retorting, “Goodbye, Mikey. Have fun living the slow burn fanfiction dream.” The younger man pulled in his ex for a tight embrace, which was returned with enthusiasm.

As Donald rocked Mike side to side, he meekly asked, “Can we relive old times? Just for a second?” Mike broke away, asking what he meant, only to be met with his ex cupping his face in his hands and giving him a soft peck on the forehead, resting his cheek on it afterwards. “I’ll always love you, Mikey, but I’m glad you’re doing better on your own.” Donald softly sighed, pulling away shortly after. His vice softly smiled, admitting himself, “I guess I’ll always love you too, ya dumb shit.” With that, the younger man turned around and walked away, his hands in his pockets as he heard his ex resume his golf game, pleased that the encounter went better than he anticipated.

~26 January, 2022~

Mike felt as if a weight was lifted off his shoulders, finally able to go about his day without any worries. He took the day off so he could spend his time with his boyfriend of the day: Paul Ryan. As the two sauntered hand-in-hand down the sidewalk, speaking of unimportant subjects to fill the silence, Paul asked, “Hey, can we go to McDonald’s or something?” The former vice president thought for a bit, only to be met with the 2012 vice presidential candidate grabbing him by the dog collar (which he always wore when he was with Mitt Romney’s running mate). Startled, he began to bark, going, “GRR ARF ARF SNARL GRR WOOF WOOF BARK OWA OWA AWOO ARF ARF GRR SNARL YAP BOOF BARK BARK!” 

“Can we? I’ll pay!” Paul asked again, giving puppy eyes because if he didn’t have a big mac in precisely thirteen minutes, he would commit an act of vore. “Ah, alright, just don’t grab my collar again, it makes me bark. Mike sighed, guiding his boyfriend to the nearest McDonald’s. Walking in, the two gasped at the sight in front of them: Joe Biden, Kamala Harris, and Bernie Sanders all beating the shit out of Donald. This wasn’t the first time that happened, surprisingly.

The three all went ham on him until Joe lifted up Donald by the suit and pinned his arms behind his back. A *shlap shlap shlap shlap* (the sound of the former president’s titties slapping against themselves as he tried to break free) was heard as he thrashed, yelling “Let me outttt!!!! Let me ooouuutttttt!!!!!!!” Bernie proceeded to use him as his personal punching bag until the blonde passed out, everyone watching him stand in his spot, panting heavily. “Now where the fuck is Al Gore! He’s next because he stole my record!” The socialist roared, getting on all fours and booking it out of the restaurant, followed by Kamala, who didn’t succumb to her animal urges. “Wait up, Bernie! If I don’t put your leash on, animal control will take you to the pound again!” She shouted, desperately chasing the man. 

Joe lagged behind, about to follow the two until he made eye contact with Mike. “Oh! Fancy seeing you here, Mike.” The president smiled, the former vice president returning the greeting. “Why were you… y’know?” Mike asked, gesturing towards the unconscious Donald. “Oh, he called me a homewrecker because he still thinks I’m the one responsible for your relationship failing, haha.” Joe laughed, ignoring the possibly dead 45th president behind him. “He knows I can’t fuck you. I mean, I already have one boyfriend for each day of the week.” Mike shrugged as Joe laughed.

“Wait until The Beatles become a real band outside of Wonder Pets and actually make a week have eight days!” The president playfully remarked, seriously believing The Beatles were a made up band for the children’s program. “When Logsday gets put on the calendar, I’ll call you.” Mike guaranteed, nudging the man with his elbow. The two shared a laugh together, even having Paul join in. They completely ignored Bernie finding Al a block away from the McDonald’s and beating the living shit out of him for stealing his record. It was all okay again, and Mike couldn’t be happier.

THE END YOU FUCKS


End file.
